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December 11, 2012
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Looking for Literature!

:iconsaevuswinds:
saevusWinds Dec 11, 2012  Student General Artist
If you comment on my literature, then I will will comment and/or offer you some advice! (I might even favorite it if I like it enough) Please don't show me extremely long pieces, but if you do I'll still try to add feedback. I MIGHT make a literature feature if I find enough literature I like. I have 200+ followers.

Limit: 3 pieces of literature.

A sample of my works (I picked short ones for your convenience, feel free to search the rest of my gallery):

Color of BlueWe come, skin tinted the color of frost,
Color of cold, color of blue.
They shout, carrying words with the wind, preaching,
"People are equal," but people are lost.

Little lies, the size of snowflakes drift,
Landing on hopes, landing on dreams.
Our hearts, with winter's tears touching it, freeze,
Numbing it until the blood turns blue.

For some, the cold beats them down,
Chilling their warmth, chilling their light.
Their blood, turning into blue ice shatters,
Finally cracking under the pressure.

We're told, with wide expecting eyes,
Reach for better, reach for perfection.
Blue blood, polluting our minds with every expec
AdolescenseI think there's a thousand songs the wind tells me.

The wind still whistles in my ear whenever I push up against it, as if reminding me how childish I really am. When I yell questions to no one in particular, except maybe God and anyone far away from my heart to truly listen, the wind sends back a copy of myself so I understand what they hear. They hear a child, wailing, lost, still pondering life as if she had just been alive for seconds. At the same time, I'm older than most children, and my voice grows more like my parents each day. "Adolescence," everyone tells me, but what I'm feeling now is more than just one mere word long.

There's a
hushedits midnight and the world is silent. quiet. darkness surrounds my body, with only a computer screen as a nightlight and the humming of my laptop for a lullaby.

maybe if im lucky i will sail about with millions of swimming stars and perhaps a drowning one or two. maybe i can save it. maybe its already gone.

hushed from the world. hushed from the sky.

remaining only on my fingertips as it fades away.
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Devious Comments

:icondiablo0153:
Diablo0153 Jan 9, 2013  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
I've actually written a Fantasy Drama book and published it on Amazon (its name is Raven's Descent). I can only send you the PDF via email for free. So contact me in private if you'd like to read it. My email is ionut94@gmail.com.
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:icondoodlertm:
doodlerTM Dec 12, 2012  Student Writer
Rusted Nail“Rust is a sign of age, Alan,” my grandfather said as he lay underneath the car.  “You leave this cars out in the elements and the air rusts 'em, no matter what you do.  And you really can't fix rust.  The frame for this one still looks mostly intact, though.  Pass me that wrench, would you?”

I slid the wrench across the floor.  “Thanks,” Grampa Rob said.

I resumed my position in the fold-up chair, drinking my tea. It was rather chilly for the middle of September.  The garage was heated, but still a little colder than in the actual house, so I was wearing my college hoodie.

“Why do you like working
knotted capeher past is an invisible cape -
she can always feel it behind her,
it weighs heavy on her shoulders on barren days,
and when she tries to run from it,
it chokes her.

it's tied too tight around her neck
for her to take it away herself, and she
always fears it will tighten her throat when she least expects it
and then people will see.  like that night
she walked home late from open mic, disappeared
because someone sang about having friends in low places
where the beer chases the blues away,
and actually, it won't be okay,
because while everyone is laughing and singing along
that song strangled her and made her cry
and she went home because
yellow yellowyellow yellow
and orange bordering green
the fall leaves fwooshing:
my favorite sound,
rushing against the wind,
chased by the air on the ground,
falling, fleeting.
the leaves are leaving.
I only look at faces
and I'm not sure what I'm seeing.
Falling, fleeting,
I'm not sure when I'm leaving
but I know I'm headed somewhere.
I am yellow yellow
the orange bordering green
falling, fleeting, fwooshing
headed somewhere
special.


:eager: I'll look at a few of yours later! :la: PS - the one with the warning isn't super horrible - it just has some religious elements and such.
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:iconinsanity-engine:
Insanity-Engine Dec 11, 2012  Professional General Artist
I've got quite a few written pieces but here's some of my shorter ones. All sci fi... I do love my sci fi.

Insanity Engine intro4.5 billion years was a long time, even for a machine. It had taken many thousands of years just to get this far, to this barren ball of volatile rock so far from its home planet. Of course, it hadn't been awake during that time. No, it had been asleep, waiting. As it had drifted through the blackest space between stars, its course set by clever hands many light years back.

Compared to light, it had travelled slowly, languidly. Its first stop had been a rift in space and time, an area where the fabric of reality had bent and weaved in such a way as to connect two points in space even though they existed at insane distances apart. Its second
Mechanical DeathEven mechanical things can live.

It stirred, steel tendons and synthetic muscles twanging like sad music in the cold silent dark. In turn, the dark hissed back, a noiseless sound from the furthest depths of blackest space. The thing with the tendons of steel and the skinless hide glistening with oil twitched and spasmed and trembled, the mess of electric synapses it called a mind confused by the notion of life.

It felt. And what it felt confused it, for it had never felt before and it did not know what it was to feel. It felt cold and hot at the same time, two extremes of temperature that at a point became inseparable with each other. It fe
A Meeting, of SortsThe camera-man walked towards him, the discordant tinkling of its tempered steel parts almost musical.

"What are you?" asked the man, his once brave voice reduced to nothing more than a harsh whisper. The camera-man's iris contracted in a curious fashion as it regarded him, its features so utterly alien that the man could only guess at its thoughts. Around him the world was at a standstill, as if time itself respected this creature so much as to freeze in its presence. Gone was the rhythmic ticking of the clock, gone was the insistent beep of the microwave, and gone was the shrill shriek of the kettle.  There was only him and the c


I'll check yours out. :heart:
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:iconmgcogan:
mgcogan Dec 11, 2012  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
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:iconsaevuswinds:
saevusWinds Dec 11, 2012  Student General Artist
Thanks! If you have the time, look through my things if you can.
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